From the Mud, a New Blossom
by ThePriestSpy
Summary: To pave the way for the future, one must always face their past... even if in this case, the methods seem a bit extravagant


I was inspired to write this little something by the release of the new Zed comic.

Also, I dedicate this story to my friend Number 4, the greatest Jhin player I know. Keep climbing that ladder m'boy.

Now, enjoy, and do leave a review if you please.

* * *

It was almost time. The stagehand's excitement at the coming part of the show grew by the second, but he contained himself, releasing the energy by drumming a relaxing pattern with his fist. Patience. Only when the time was right would he act, and then, the masterpiece would be truly perfect.

He stood within the backstage balcony of one of the most famous theaters in northern Zhyun, which had been crafted into the concave side of a mountain bluff. Ancient trees grew at its base, clinging to the rock as they grew before fanning out into great, shade-giving crowns. In between their thick trunks, wood-weavers had carefully and artistically crafted a multitude of floors flush into the rock, overarching the grand stage and the auditorium below.

The seats within were filled to the last, tightly packed with a great crowd composed of people from all over the island. Peasants, merchants, artists, famous councilmen, monks of various orders, and even a handful of vastaya sat together, just as eagerly awaiting the next part of tonight's play as the stagehand.

After all, the tale of "Lord Kusho and the Golden Demon", despite being barely older than two decades, was already was one of the most famous stories known in Ionia. The news of the great Kinkou master finally bringing one of the greatest scourges of pre-war Ionia to justice had spread nationwide, another great deed to his name that would make the already famous ninja into something of a national legend. Who then would possibly want to miss one of the most prestigious theater groups in the southern provinces perform their production of such a legendary man's tale?

It had been the same for the traveling stagehand. The chance to participate in such an event, to work together with some of the greatest artists and actors alive on a story like no other, had been too irresistible to deny. It was dangerous for him to do so, to be here, but art always had risks involved, didn't it? Participating would be the perfect opportunity to become accustomed to his new tools and the techniques he'd developed, and to get back in the proper mindset after all this time.

The other artists, possessing a keen sense of their craft, had warmly welcomed him into their rows, and after a demonstration of his talent, soon made him the master of staffing. With such an opportunity for greater art in his hands, he toiled to perfect every single aspect, the backgrounds, the costumes, the lighting and properties, all carefully constructed and composed. A performance was meaningless without proper backdrop after all, and nothing short of perfection was acceptable.

A certain shade lay over the event however. Ionia was still torn by the aftermath of the Noxian Invasion, and the directors of the production had deeper intentions beyond pure art. The play was to serve as a means to celebrate the ancient ways, to remind the populace of what once was; and show support to the fractured Kinkou Order. Submitting artistic vision to such political motives left a bitter taste in the stagehand's mouth, but it was something he would have to learn to endure from now on.

The murmur of the crowd growing silent alerted the artist, who witnessed as the great silk curtains drew back. It was time for the fourth and final act of the play, 'The Capture of the Golden Demon,' and the drumming of his hand grew faster in anticipation as four men took to the stage. This part was his favorite. All it took was four people to portray the crescendo of this most impressive tale, no more, no less.

The artist couldn't help but be impressed with them. They truly were among the best of the best. Standing center on the stage, dressed in a calligrapher's robe and with his hair dyed a flaming red, was 'Master Kusho'. It was as if the master himself stood on the stage, every word, every longwinded moral speech that would have sounded bore from another mouth was delivered with both incredible passion and a true sense of weight. To his right was 'his son, Shen', garbed in a blue gi; a man whose real-life jolliness transferred perfectly onto the character he was emulating, and to his left, 'his disciple, Usan', wearing peculiar red and black robes, a hothead who oozed power despite having probably never held a real weapon in his life.

But his true favorite, the centerpiece of the show, was the man cowering in front of the 'ninja', the Golden Demon himself, dressed in the finest white and gold as designed by the stagehand himself. Far less prestigious than the main characters, the villain had been relegated to background appearances right up until the end, and yet, the actor used every moment, every word given to him to its full potential. The stagehand knew others would portray the role far… less enthusiastically, unable to grasp the villain's spirit, but this one shied back from nothing. _It was a shame really, considering what was about to happen to him, but alas, everyone had to play their part in the grand scheme of things._

The artist listened intently from his private spot as the actor playing Kusho divulged upon the murderer with great words how he had discovered the pattern behind his foul deeds. They had rehearsed the play and its scenes many times of course, but seeing something go down in earnest, before an audience, was always something different, something… more. _People changed when on staged, unveiled their truest selves. It was beautiful._

'Usan' stepped forward then, wooden blade poised to strike, before he was held back by 'Kusho'.

"Master, for his evil deeds, nothing but death is a feasible punishment!" the younger ninja shouted with passion.

"Control yourself, Usan. Such is not the way of the Kinkou. No, giving him death would only perpetuate the cycle, and fulfill the villains wish. We shall incarcerate him in Tuula Prison instead, so that he may find punishment under Ionia's sacred laws."

'Kusho' spoke firmly, addressing both his student and the audience equally. 'Usan' hesitated, and despite facial expressions being hardly visible for most due to the size of the auditorium, he put sincere effort into portraying the disciple's emotional turmoil. _The moment was approaching, and the urge to retrieve his tools from their hiding place was growing ever stronger. Nobody had suspected a thing, thinking the suit just another costume. Now, he was poised for the final climax._

"Now, creature, the time for you penance has come." 'Kusho' told the cowering artist, and with a motion of his hand, his students grabbed the villain by the arms, propping him up.

_The tapping grew faster._

1\. 2. 3. **4\. **1\. 2. 3. **4\. **1\. 2. 3.** 4\. **_1\. 2. 3. __**4**_**.**

The Golden Demon on stage struggled once against his captors, before he raised his head to face his jailer. _The stagehands heartbeat quickened as he finally slipped on the hood and mask. How much he'd fought to have those words included. Now, it was time for the true crescendo. He had prepared everything for this moment, and now, the real master would take stage._

"Mark my words, Kusho. You have not escaped my performance. I swear to you, **I will return**."

_There it was. The cue. The signal. From underneath his chair, the stagehand retrieved the remaining parts, before assembling his brush. Then, aiming at the center of the stage, he unleashed beauty. _

* * *

_As the true performance unfolded amidst screams of ecstasy, Jhin smiled to himself. News of Kusho's murder by his disciple Usan, or Zed, as he called himself these days, had reached his ears, and he'd been… less than thrilled. He'd been robbed of the performance that he desired, of the revenge he wanted to enact on Kusho, and it left him with a foreign sense of distaste. The Kusho on stage might've been but an actor, a pale reflection of his enemy despite all his work to make everything authentic, but his death eased the lingering bitterness. Now, the past could truly become the past._

_After all, the late master's heirs were still out there, waiting for their cue, and thinking of the true performance truly got his heart racing. After all, the first step had been made. Now, the curtain would rise._


End file.
